Page 21 of Vicious Luna
“What?”
“Nothing, just glad to see you’re finally coming out on the other side of this,” he muses, taking a tentative sip from the black ceramic mug in his hand. He makes a face when it burns his tongue, cursing under his breath and setting it back down on the counter.
I roll my eyes at his comment, placing my own cup down beside me so I don’t make the same mistake he just did.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, son,” he tacks on. “It took me a good month to get past Rixby’s death.”
“I remember.”
“Then again, we weren’t in the middle of a mission like we are currently.”
“What are you trying to say?” I grumble, more than a little irritated that he’s choosingnowto harp on me for slacking off. We’re talking in low enough voices that I doubt the guys in the other room can overhear, but I’d still rather not discuss this out in the open. It’s not a good look for my position of authority over them.
“Nothing,” he murmurs with a shake of his head. “It’s a good time for you to rejoin us, that’s all.”
“I never left.”
Dad gives me a stern look, lifting his mug again. “You know what I mean.”
I resist the urge to snap at him, instead distracting myself by picking up my own coffee and taking a big sip. Tastes like shit without whiskey, honestly. I make a face, setting it back on the counter and sliding off, landing on my feet and stepping past my dad to head for the fridge.
I stop in my tracks halfway there, swiveling back to face my old man again as I suddenly recall one of the details from my dream last night.
“Hey, you remember Woofie?” I ask.
He nods. Then again, it was sort of a rhetorical question.
‘Woofie’ was this little wolf stuffed animal that he bought me when I was a kid. My mom had gone away to visit some dying relative, so it was just the two of us for a couple of weeks, and he softened the blow of her absence by taking me to the toy store and letting me pick out anything I wanted. I scoped out the whole place and somehow landed on that plushie.
I fucking loved it; took it everywhere with me while Mom was away. Then she got back, and as soon as she saw me cuddling Woofie she freaked out. My four-year-old brain couldn’t comprehend why she’d be so upset over a stuffed toy, and it was fucking traumatic when she ripped it out of my hands and threw it away. I dug Woofie out of the trash only for there to be another ugly scene when she found him in my room again a week later.
I haven’t thought about it in years, but for some reason, that damn stuffed animal made an appearance in my strange as fuck dream last night.
“It makes sense now, why Mom was always so weird about wolves,” I muse, swiping a hand over my chin. “Y’know, she used to tell me bedtime stories about them sometimes.”
Dad dips his head in acknowledgment. “I remember that,too.” He gets a far-off look in his eyes, smiling fondly at the memory. “I used to think Em just had a wild imagination.”
“That’s probably why I picked out Woofie in the first place,” I suggest, leaning a hip against the counter and drumming my fingers against the granite surface absently. “Probably subconsciously associated the wolf with her and wanted to feel close to her while she was gone.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Probably.” A soft buzz sounds from his pocket and he reaches a hand in to slide his phone out smoothly, glancing down at the screen. “I’ve gotta take this,” he mumbles, turning away and heading for the doors to the back patio.
I watch after him for a moment as he steps outside and brings the phone up to his ear, then wander back over to my coffee cup, chancing another sip since I need the caffeine to help relieve this headache. Another swallow only confirms that it tastes like dirt without the addition of whiskey, though.Maybe just a little splash…
“Hey Knox,” Matty greets, striding into the kitchen before I have a chance to slyly raid the liquor cabinet. “Are you waiting for the Luna’s food? I was just coming in to make it, it’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Yeah, no rush,” I breathe, waving him off and taking another gulp of coffee.As if I wasn’t just two seconds away from making it Irish.I try not to grimace as I swallow it down, wiping off my mouth on a forearm. “Remind me what time Bravo team is doing field training today?”
Matty snaps his head in my direction as he pulls open the fridge, blue eyes alight with excitement. “Are you coming?” he asks eagerly, then quickly dials it back. “I mean, no pressure, I know you’ve got a lot of other stuff going on, but the rest of the team takes training more seriously when you’re there.”
I shrug, sipping from my mug. “I was thinking about it.”
“Cool,” he replies, pulling a few things out from the fridge and bringing them over to the kitchen island to prep Luna’stray. “I mean, I’m sure the interrogation takes precedence, but even if you just stopped by for a little while, it’d boost morale. Starts at ten.” He spoons a portion of chicken salad from a small container onto a plate, fanning out some crackers beside it. “How are things going with the prisoner, anyways?”
“Fine,” I reply gruffly, officially giving up on my un-spiked coffee and splashing the rest into the sink.
“Yeah, I bet it is,” Griffin remarks as he joins us in the kitchen, clapping a hand on my shoulder as he passes.
I shoot him a glare, immediately going on the defensive. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”